robinet burke. (robinet) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-02-21 21:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | eddie carmichael, robinet burke |
WHO: Eddie Carmichael & Robinet Burke
WHAT: Eddie and Robin have some drinks and plan to possibly order a cow
WHERE: A bar in Knockturn
WHEN: Wednesday, 21st February, night
"Listen, I just think it's time to … oh, brilliant!" Eddie completely lost his train of thought as the pub pizza arrived in all its greasy glory. "Can we get another round to go with it? Thank you, you're the best!" he called out after the bartender. It was a night out with Robin and he was determined to keep things light and moving so there was no chance to dwell on anything too tough or sad. Robin was surely getting enough of that with his family, and it wasn't anything Eddie could really help with, either. "This looks like the sort of pizza that nutritionists warn you about," Eddie said with a smile. Robin eyed the pizza with hearty admiration, reaching out to grab at a slice. It came away slowly, so cheese laden that hot, warm strings of it didn’t quite make it from the plate over to his mouth. Robin didn’t particularly care as he sunk his teeth in, enjoying the first bite. “I think I just heard some of them scream,” he said, with a grin. “Really loudly, in my head. It was like surround sound.” He took another bite and then reached for his drink. He wasn’t quite sure what number it was, but then again he’d decided not to count, a decision he was feeling good about. “We should keep doing things extraordinarily bad for our health. You wanna jagerbomb?” "I definitely wanna jagerbomb," Eddie said, quietly relieved that Robin's current version of bad for their health didn't involve exploding things they were too tipsy to explode properly. He had a small vial of sobering potion in his pocket in case he needed to play the responsible one tonight, but that was a last resort. The pizza was too hot, but Eddie relished the bite anyway, and when the bartender returned with their new pints, the order was in and a moment later, the drinks sat before them like a challenge. Robinet had always been bad at ignoring challenges. He set the slice of pizza down and stared at the jagerbombs, before poking one closer to Eddie and taking the other. His expression was solemn and very serious as he lifted the shot. “Down it,” he said, voice like a dirge, only cracking at the end. A small whisper of a smile appeared as he threw the shot back, slamming it onto the table. He pulled a face. “I hate Jager. Unless we’re going to have many, then I love it.” Robin took a sip of the pint, to try and wash the taste away. “But I’ll let you choose.” Eddie coughed after the shot but tried to cover it with a laugh. "Mate, it's not like anybody drinks Jager for the taste. All I think is let's not drown out the taste of this glorious pizza with too much trash too fast, yeah?" He coughed again. Over the rest of his slice, he considered what to talk about next. "Alright. What's the weirdest thing you've got in the shop right now?" “Myself,” Robin said promptly, his grin a slash across his face. He looked at Eddie and then said, “Actually it might be the aura of all the Death Eaters. That’s pretty weird. It smells like,” here, he lowered his voice, “cloying death and also, weirdly, pepperoni.” Eddie matched Robin's conspiratorial whisper. "I think that part might just be the pizza," he said, cracking a smile after a beat. “Oh right,” Robin laughed. “That might have something to do with it.” He reached for a next slice of pizza, then bypassed lifting a slice completely to pick the pepperoni off the top. “It does smell like my shop, actually,” he said, and then popped it into his mouth, looking over at the bar. He’d been here a lot before: he knew the bartenders, the people who passed through. Robin tried not to say what came out of his mouth next, but he was unfortunately a master of giving voice to uncomfortable thoughts. “Which is not as fun, by the way, when Rich isn’t popping in all the time but whatever.” The pint glass was in his hand almost immediately and he took another long drink, because he didn’t want to apologise and because a part of him thought it might wash the taste of the words out of his mouth. Eddie's gaze fell because there it was, the one thing he was trying to make sure Robin wasn't thinking about tonight. But it was inevitable, he supposed, when so much could remind you of the people you cared about. Richenza was everywhere in Knockturn, and Eddie didn't have the first idea what to say about it. "Have you ever thought about doing something else? Even for awhile. Pick up a private practice or something." Robin laughed, a short, staccato sound that disappeared quickly. “Like, Robinet’s Curses: I’ll make ‘em and break ‘em, whatever, just pay the price.” For a second after he said it, Robin tilted his head in consideration. “Actually, I’d put that in the DP.” "You know you'd get good business, especially now," Eddie half-encouraged. "Just get a good solicitor onboard and I think you're set. I'll design you a business card." Robin turned his head, eyeing Eddie suspiciously. “Would you hide a picture of a dick in it?” "Like three of them, at least." Throwing his head back, Robin cackled. “That’s why I’d hire you, to be honest. I want people to get mixed messages from the business cards.” A slight pause as Robin took another bite of pizza. “Actually, that’s a really marketable skill. What are you doing not marketing it?” "I'm not really sure doing something every twelve year old boy tries to do is actually marketable, but I'll take it, thank you," Eddie said. "But I'd make it subtle, or else people might think you're an escort." “Maybe that’s my destiny,” Robin said, elbow on the table. “I’m going to become an escort now. Isn’t there that place up the alley that does it?” Eddie laughed. "They've got the red curtains and everything. Very old school. You'd make a dashing escort. All the lads and lasses would be clamoring." “I have always wanted to say ‘don’t you want to see what’s behind the curtain,’” Robin said and then he was downing his drink. “I’m gonna go get a curtain. Do you think the bar has one? I’m asking.” "If they don't have one, we'll find you one. Loads of curtains. All the curtains. Curtains for days." His drink was only half-empty, but he was on a mission to keep pace with Robin, so he gulped the rest down and waved again to the friendly, long-suffering bartender. "Freddie! Franklin." "It's Francis." "Francisco! My good mate Francisco. I've a very important question for you." Eddie put on the most serious face he could for as long as he could. "This is a matter of national security. Have you got… any curtains." The laughter rippled through him but he kept his mouth tight-lipped and even as long as he could before it burst out. Robin abandoned his own attempts not to laugh the moment Eddie started to, melting back into his seat, the laughter, combined with the alcohol, making his movements looser. He shoved a hand over his mouth, but it did little to contain the sound. It seemed like it caused it to echo more, instead. Robin could barely look at Francis-Francisco: his expression was a picture of weariness. “That’s not a matter of national security,” he said, and would have continued if Robin didn’t interrupt. “But it is. You see,” voice dropping, Robin leaned forward, “the government has sent us on a special mission. We must inspect and utilise every pair of curtains in every public house. Is this not a public house, my good man?” He looked Francis square in the eye. The barman sighed. "Where is your patriotism? Your national pride? It's your civic duty, man!" Eddie added. "My friend Robin here will even give you a discount on his services. He's top of the line, mate." “Yeah!” Robin loudly agreed, hand hitting the table open palmed. “I'm the best of the best. Creamy crops.” He paused and then frowned, leaning into Eddie. “What's the saying?” "It rises to the top," Eddie said, very sure of himself for about five seconds. "Wait, that's a different one. But Francisco, wait, Francisco, I need to tell you something." He slung an arm over Robin's shoulder, then tapped his friend's chest a couple of times. "Robin here rises to the top. Of the creamy crop." Robin threw an arm out around Eddie, the two of them leaning into one another as Francis looked at both of them with the kind of weary irritation that many Knockturn bartenders acquired. “That’s not the saying,” Francis said, “not that it matters.” Again, Robin interrupted him. “It matters very much! I’m very important and a serious businessman. I’m rising to the top of the crops. I’m like a farmer. An escort farmer.” There were, unfortunately, too many ideas and tangents crowding into Robin’s head: a cursebreaker, a small business owner, an escort, someone who farmed crops now. Maybe something to do with cream. Could he work in a dairy? No, he didn’t care for cows. Udders were terrible. He turned to Eddie and told him, without letting him in on the rest of the thought: “Udders are terrible.” "Udders are terrible," Eddie agreed, completely losing the previous conversation. Francis saw his chance to get out of the conversation and took it without hesitation. "I mean, I think they are. I have definitely never actually touched an udder but they look terrible." “We should go to a farm,” Robin said, seriously, “and make sure we’re right. Also maybe we should find a curtain? Can we do both? Farms might have a curtain.” He surged to his feet, grabbing hold of the pint. He thought about draining it and then cut his eyes towards the bartender. Maybe he could sneak it out with them. Eddie considered the problem before them. "The problem before us is, I don't know any farms." “I’ve looked at pictures of one,” Robin said and the he pulled his phone out. “We can find one and just concentrate really really hard.” He didn’t wait for Eddie to say that sounded like a good idea, just started googling. Eddie moved to peer over Robin's shoulder at the screen, the better to concentrate at. "Oh! Look, that one's got cows. There, look, pull that one up!" He stared at it, wide-eyed and ready to be transported to the open farmland. "You two idiots aren't trying to apparate to a farm, by chance, are you?" Francis the weary barkeep asked. “We are extremely clever, Francis,” Robin said, sharply, eyeing the man. He looked sharp and wary, like a bird, but unfortunately it was ruined as Robin’s gaze kept drifting away. “I think we’re going to go there and make our dreams come true.” “You can’t apparate. You’re too drunk.” “Eddie, he’s calling you a drunk.” "How dare you, sir. I am perfectly sober. I will prove it to you!" Eddie insisted. He rose quickly and nudged everyone away to give himself the room he needed over Francis's muted protestations. "Don't try this at home, ladies and gentlemen. I am a professional." "Kid, you're going to hurt yourself." "Francisco, please. I've been doing this since I was a wee teenager." "You're still a wee teenager." Eddie flipped him a salute, focused, and did a backflip for what he imagined was a cheering crowd. He wobbled a bit on landing but kept upright. He threw his arms up in the air in victory. "See? See? Could a drunk do that? Oh fuck—" he lurched forward, as the pizza and alcohol currently residing in his stomach decided to make an escape attempt. The speed with which Robin changed from clapping and cheering Eddie on to open mouthed horror was, quite frankly, impressive. His face contorted into an expression partway between disgust and dismay. One hand went to his forehead, like he was watching his favourite team fail to score a goal and couldn’t believe it. “Eddie, no!” he shouted, but it was too late. The escape attempt had been made. Robin rushed forward just as Francis started hollering, one hand going to Eddie’s back and the other clutching his arm. “Look, man, I know,” he said to Francis, “but I gotta go hold his hair. Do you want me to hold your hair back, Ed?” He wasn’t really waiting for much of an answer, already pulling him towards the loos. “I mean, that was wicked though. It was worth the gross pizza mix. Don’t get any on my shoes.” Eddie stood hunched over with his hands on his knees, suddenly feeling much better. "Vanish," he said, waving his hand vaguely at the mess he'd just left. "Vanish! Robin, why won't it vanish? Where's my wand?" It was sticking out of his pocket. "I'm calling you the Knight Bus," said Francis. "You boys need to go home." “Home?” Robin said, offended, after vanishing Eddie’s mess. “Home schmome. It’s not home time.” “You are not staying here,” Francis said, stern, and Robin looked at Eddie, pulling a face. “We will party at mine. There will be lots of people. And curtains! I have curtains.” "Curtains!" Eddie cheered. He did some math badly and left Francis a very generous tip for the night. "Maybe there'll be a cow with udders there too when we get there!" “We’re going to order a cow!” Robin said, and then repeated to Eddie, then to every person they met on the way home. He forgot to order the cow. |